


Annona

by Sineala



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-10
Updated: 2011-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca is not particularly fond of the grain-dole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Annona

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fanmedia Challenge at ninth_eagle, Round 3; inspired by the picture of the bread. Thanks to Lishan, Carmarthen, and Savvy for the encouragement.

They are to return the Eagle to Rome.

Esca had been expecting to crest a hill, to see the city laid out before him, but there is no need. There are no steep hills on the long roads to the city; when there is a hill, the road is carved into it. The city itself is not a thing to be happened upon suddenly, but arises slowly in the distance, and as their horses plod ever closer the city grows in size, and grows, and grows. It is bigger than anything he has seen before. It is bigger than anything he can imagine. A million people live there, Marcus told him once; Esca can hardly comprehend a million of anything.

He hates the sight of it.

He would have hated it anyway, because it is Rome, but he hates it more now that he has seen it, now that he knows it is an unnatural monster of a thing.

Marcus' face, as he dares a glance over, is grim as well, and Esca wonders why. He had not even been happy earlier, when the Via Cassia brought them through Etruria, even through Clusium, his home. He had refused to stop, saying there was nothing there for him any longer.

He wishes that at least Marcus were pleased, so that one of them could be.

Marcus reins his horse to a halt, and Esca does the same. There they stop, in the middle of the road.

"Rome," Marcus says, unnecessarily.

"It is large," Esca says, and he cannot keep the disgust out of his voice.

Even though the countryside is filled with farmland, there is not enough to support a city of anywhere near this size, and Esca knows it. Rome is vast only because it takes everything for itself.

He remembers realizing this. He was six, and the tax-collectors had come in the fall as they always did. He was too young to know at the time that they had raised the tax, too young to know why his father was full of quiet rage. He only saw the Romans, leading their best cattle away.

It did not bother him at first, because had it not been just last month that their neighbors had taken their cows? It always happened thus. And surely, just as the men of Cunoval's clan had done the other day, they could take the cattle back from the Romans in the very same manner. He had told his father this idea, and he had been so proud of himself for thinking it up.

"Oh, Esca," his father had said, squatting down in front of him, smiling sadly. "That is a very clever thought, but that is not how it works. When it is the Romans who come for our cattle, we cannot take them back."

And he understands this now, staring at Rome. Rome is fat on gold and cattle and grain. They have the grain-dole, Marcus told him, _annona_ , and Esca wanted to weep when Marcus showed him the grain-dole pictured as a goddess on the back of a coin, as if the grain never came from anywhere but divine hands. Rome takes everything from the provinces, even food, so that so many people can live in one place, so that they can eat when others cannot, and Rome cares not for those who had grown the grain, who had raised the cattle--

Esca's horse makes an unhappy sound, ducks her head, and steps back; he unclenches his fists from the reins he had been pulling too much.

Marcus turns and eyes him. "Esca," he asks, "is everything well?"

He takes a breath. "I do not think I will like Rome."

"No," Marcus says, quietly, "I didn't think you would. You could have stayed."

Esca shakes his head. "I am yours, Marcus, and bound to you."

"You aren't my slave," Marcus says, as if freedom has fixed everything that was between them. As if no one has owed anyone anything since Marcus pressed the dagger into his hand.

"I was not speaking of a Roman thing. And-- and I would still have come," he makes himself say. It is the truth. Even if there were no bonds between them, he would be here. He is here for Marcus.

"Well," says Marcus, and for the first time in a month he smiles as he speaks. "I am glad you are with me. And I will be just as glad when the two of us are gone again and we may return home."

"Home?"

 _The two of us?_ he wants to ask, but he fears it is a thing they cannot discuss. He fears that if he cares, if he hints that he cares, somehow it will go wrong.

But, he thinks, he has told Marcus he came because Marcus wished it, and Marcus is still here with him.

A year ago, two years ago, he never would have imagined he could be here. It is different now. Marcus is different now, Esca knows. He is not one of the arrogant Romans who would think nothing of provincials, and he is changed enough to know something of what Esca feels.

Marcus nods. "I have grown fond of Britannia. And of having you at my side." And he smiles a smile that is quite different, warm and hopeful, a smile Esca likes very much.

"I as well," says Esca, smiling back, as together they urge their horses onward. Perhaps Marcus already knows what Esca thinks of him, then. And perhaps Esca will tell him. If Marcus feels as he does, it will make even this time they must spend in Rome bearable, and then they will have each other on the journey home, they will have each other this day and all the days after.


End file.
